


Under Your Spell

by anysin



Series: Therapy AU [7]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Anal Fingering, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Drugs, Filming, Hypnotism, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/pseuds/anysin
Summary: During Jon's therapy, he and Elias experiment with hypnosis. A Therapy AU extra.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Therapy AU [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1515473
Comments: 20
Kudos: 77





	Under Your Spell

**Author's Note:**

> The next story in the series is in the works but in the meanwhile, I hope you'll enjoy this little extra! This story is not necessarily part of the main universe, but can be if you want it to be.

"No." Jon shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself. "Absolutely not."

He expects to hear a deep, disappointed sight from Bouchard, but he doesn't even get that; Bouchard just keeps looking at him from over his chair, blinking slowly.

"All right," Bouchard says. "Can you at least explain to me why not?"

Jon grits his teeth. He and Bouchard have been making great progress with the therapy: Jon sleeps better these days and operates better during daytime, but ever since he told Bouchard about what happened with Mr. Spider, he has also been suffering from spikes of anxiety. They have been manageable most of the time, but Bouchard feels that they should do something about them before they grow into a problem. Jon agrees with this basic thought; he doesn't agree with other ideas Bouchard is having.

"You are suggesting hypnosis," he says. "First of all, I think it's nonsense. Second, I don't think it's going to help."

Bouchard smiles a little at that. "You know, I could argue you about your first point, but I think a demonstration is the best counter-argument in this case. But, why do you think it wouldn't help you? Haven't my methods been helpful to you so far?"

That is a good point. Bouchard's approach is- _wrong_ in all possible ways, but Jon can't say that it also hasn't been enormously helpful. This could aid with things, Bouchard had said, help the two of them to work on the knots of Jon's mind a little bit faster, and there is no reason for Jon to say no. Even if it doesn't work, all it means that nothing has been lost, if not gained.

Which means that his objection really lies elsewhere.

"I don't know." Jon sighs, looking down at his knees. "I just feel it's so unnecessary."

"Jon." He can hear Bouchard put his notepad and pen aside, which means he is getting up from his chair, which means he's coming over to Jon. This is always the moment when Jon should move away at very least, if not flee the office entirely, and he never does. He glances up instead, watching as Bouchard paces over to him, his eyes soft and understanding.

"I wouldn't suggest this to you if I didn't feel like it would help." Once he has reached him, Bouchard lowers himself down on one knee before Jon, reaching out for him. He takes Jon's hand between his own, massaging Jon's cold fingers. "It's not a cure, of course, I have never offered cures to you. But it's an aid, something that will make things a little easier for you. That's what we want, don't we?"

Bouchard pulls Jon's hand over, making Jon shiver as he kisses him on the knuckles.

"I guess you're right," Jon says, although he is still unsure. He glances over to the clock: they still have fifteen minutes left. "Next week's session?"

"That was the plan." Bouchard smiles at him, reaching out to unbutton the cuff of Jon's shirt. "This week, we'll help you relax the usual way."

Bouchard slides his fingertips against the inside of Jon's wrist, and anticipation makes Jon shiver again.

*

It's a rainy, windy day when they next meet, and Jon is in a bad mood by the time he arrives at the office, having struggled with his umbrella the whole way there. He shakes the worst of the water off his hair and coat before knocking on the door, hoping he doesn't look entirely like a drowned dog. He feels like one.

Bouchard opens the door, smiling at him as he ushers Jon inside.

"I have something for us," Bouchard says as he helps Jon out of his coat, not even minding that it's damp. "I hope you like black tea. I think we could use a cup or two before we start."

Jon eyes the office over, noticing that it's a little different from usual. Their armchairs have been brought closer to each other and there is a small round table between them, and on the table there is a tray with tea and biscuits. It's very cozy and domestic, and something about that makes warmth swell in Jon's chest, bringing a blush upon his cheeks. They- they don't do things like this often, him and Bouchard. They have other concerns.

"Black tea is my favorite, actually," Jon says, walking over to his usual armchair and resting his bag down next to it. He looks over to the tea cup that has been set on his side of the table and notices that it's full already, and that makes him wrinkle his nose. "There's no sugar in it, is there?"

"I thought I'd leave it up to you to add some." Bouchard walks over to his chair and sits down, and as Jon watches, he adds two spoonfuls of sugar into his own tea before lifting the cup up, starting to stir it. "Please, Jon, drink it before it gets cold."

Jon wishes he had some time to settle down first, but he doesn't object, sitting down and taking the cup, sniffing at the tea before taking a careful sip. He looks over to Bouchard, watching Bouchard's hands as he stirs the tea, the movement of the spoon slow and precise, never once clinging against the walls of the cup. There is something strangely elegant about this simple act, but then again it's Bouchard; everything he does is elegant. Jon sips his tea more before lowering his cup, and watches on.

He keeps his hands around the cup, feeling the warmth of the tea through the porcelain. He stares at the moving spoon, the swirls it creates in the tea. He feels hazy in the head.

"That's right, Jon." Bouchard's voice is soft as it enters his ears. "Keep looking, and relax."

Jon feels a little tired, but he keeps his eyes open and on the spoon, watching as it twirls and twirls and twirls. He blinks when Bouchard lowers the spoon into the cup and puts the cup on the tray, reaching out to lift Jon's cup on the tray as well before picking the whole thing up and off the table, carrying it over to the desk.

"Now that this is done with, we can get down to business." Bouchard returns to Jon and leans down, moving the table aside as well so there is nothing standing between them anymore. He straightens up, looking down at Jon. "Stand up, Jon."

Jon stands up. He feels light, as if there is no weight in his body anymore; there is an urge inside him to flail his limbs over the strange sensation, but his body doesn't move. Bouchard smiles at him.

"I'm starting to think you protest our proceedings a little too much," Bouchard comments as he steps closer to Jon, reaching out to set his hands on Jon's shoulders. Unlike Jon himself, Bouchard feels solid, real. "I didn't even have to try very hard and look at you, under hypnosis already. I think that speaks well of the trust between us."

Bouchard runs his hands down to Jon's arms, rubbing them as if to warm him up before stepping back, his smile fading as his expression turns more serious.

"I want you to take your clothes off now." Bouchard eyes him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, making Jon's insides squirm with his heavy gaze. "All of them."

A tremor runs through Jon as he lifts his hands up to his collar, loosening his tie. He pulls it off and lets it drop on the floor, briefly hoping that the floor isn't too dusty before unbuttoning his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and letting it drop on the floor as well. He unbuttons his shirt too, his cheeks growing warm as he feels Bouchard's eyes on him, following his every move.

"Very good, Jon." While Jon takes his shirt off, dropping it to the floor to join everything else, Bouchard steps back, starting to turn around. "Keep going."

Jon takes his hands to his belt, shivering as he starts to unbuckle it. As he stares ahead, he sees how Bouchard walks over to the desk, where his own bag is waiting for him on the chair. Bouchard unzips the bag and reaches in, and just as Jon pulls his belt open and grasps the button of his trousers, Bouchard lifts up a camera, leaving the bag be as he turns back to Jon.

"Keep going," Bouchard says, fiddling with the camera as Jon's hands keep moving, pushing the button through the hole. Bouchard aims the camera at Jon, waiting until Jon is in the middle of unzipping his trousers before snapping the first shot.

Somehow, Jon knows it's only the first.

But he keeps going, taking a moment to toe his shoes off before shoving his trousers down, heat spreading over his face and neck as he bares his legs. Bouchard keeps snapping photos of him as he continues to strip down, until he's left standing naked in the middle of the office, burning in face and body both as Bouchard finally lowers the camera and just stares at him, his eyes full of silent hunger.

"You are a beautiful boy, Jon. I don't think people tell you that enough." Bouchard extends his hand and runs his fingertips along Jon's shoulder, sliding them down over his collarbone to his chest, tracing his sternum and the lines of his ribs. He brushes his hand over to Jon's nipple, stroking a thumb over it, making it pebble underneath his touch. "Then again, most people are fools. They don't see the things I see, much less understand them."

Bouchard grasps his nipple and tweaks it, drawing a soft cry from Jon and making his cock twitch. Bouchard smiles at him, dragging his fingertips down to Jon's flat stomach before drawing his hand away, standing back.

"Sit in the chair, please," Bouchard says. "I want you to spread your legs and masturbate for me."

Jon's throat feels tight, but he backs up into the chair, sitting down. The leather feels cool and smooth beneath his bare buttocks as he parts his legs as wide as they can go and grasps his cock, feeling its weight in his palm. He isn't hard yet, but his cock feels hot to touch already, and he knows it will respond well.

"Lift your leg over the arm," Bouchard suggests. "I want you to be- accessible."

Jon obeys, hooking his left leg over the left arm of the chair. The position exposes him even more, which makes his stomach knot up, but he keeps moving, starting to stroke his cock.

"What a good boy you are." Bouchard lowers himself down on one knee before Jon's chair, lifting the camera up as he starts to photograph him again. "During our sessions, you prefer to stay as dressed as possible, even though I have sucked your cock several times by now. Why is that, Jon?"

Jon bites his lip, his cock growing stiffer in his hand.

"I have to be careful around you." His own voice seems to come from far away, not from himself. "What you're doing to me is wrong. I can't afford to forget that."

Bouchard chuckles, sending a chill running down Jon's spine. It doesn't halt Jon's hand, which keeps moving, stroking his cock in an increasingly fast rhythm.

"Careful, you say," Bouchard comments, shuffling a little closer to Jon on the floor. He aims his camera up at Jon's face, snapping a shot. "You do realize how contradictory that is, don't you? You keeping your clothes on won't protect you against me. You would be better off walking away. Why don't you?"

"I don't want to." Jon gnaws on his lip, his fingers curling tighter around his length, which is half-hard now, throbbing steadily against his hand. It makes him tingle all over, having Bouchard this close to him. It always does. "You listen to me. You take me seriously. You're the only one who understands." His hips jerk, pre-come beading up at the tip of his cock. "I like you."

Bouchard stares at him, silent and serious.

"Get your fingers wet," he says. "I want to see you push them into your tight arse, Jon."

Jon shudders at the request, but he does as he's told, taking his free hand to his mouth and drawing his index finger between his lips, sucking on it. His fist is moving faster on his cock, his grip tighter now, spreading the leaking pre-come around.

"I like you too, Jon. More than you can imagine right now, but maybe one day you will see just how much." Bouchard snaps a photo, shuffling closer again and leaning down between Jon's legs, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh. Jon's cock jumps at the contact, and he pants around the finger in his mouth. He slides another one in, laving both fingers with his tongue.

"Tell me, though." Bouchard presses soft, light kisses to the inside of Jon's thigh, moving closer to his groin. "How is what we are doing wrong? Am I hurting you?"

"No." Jon's cock twitches against his palm as Bouchard reaches his balls, nuzzling them gently. "But you are my therapist. You are a grown man. We shouldn't be doing what we are doing."

"But it's not unpleasant for you." Bouchard mouths his sac, making Jon cry out. "You have let me touch you over and over again, Jon. You have allowed me to become familiar with your body, show you what you can do with it. All in the name of making you feel better, of course, but we both know we could try more difficult, challenging methods when it comes to that. You like this, Jon. There is nothing wrong about enjoying yourself."

Jon's fist moves up and Bouchard's tongue follows its movement along the underside of Jon's cock, leaving a wet stripe on the sensitive skin. Jon's cock jerks hard and his hips buck, and Bouchard smiles and pulls back, lifting the camera up again.

"I want you to breach yourself," Bouchard says, snapping a shot of Jon's leaking, throbbing cock. "Give yourself a taste of what's to come, Jon."

Shivering all over, Jon takes his wet fingers to his arse, pressing them against his hole. It's an unfamiliar sensation, having his own fingers there, having anything there at all, and it's even more unfamiliar when he starts to press his fingers inside himself, gasping as his body clenches tight around their tips, as if to fend them off. But Jon keeps pushing them inside, trying to relax and open up for them, his fist still moving on his cock. The camera is clicking fast now, the snaps of it sharp over Jon's heavy breathing.

Once Jon's fingers are all the way inside himself, time seems to stop, leaving Jon panting as his arse grips his fingers tight, all hot and smooth on the inside. Bouchard keeps snapping his shots, his mouth slightly open, his breaths deep.

"The fact is, Jon, that this is what you are meant to be doing." Bouchard lowers the camera again, reaching out to cup Jon's balls with his slim hand, fondling them. Jon moans, feeling as they tighten up in Bouchard's grasp. "Your body, your mind, they are meant to be mine, and I will possess you in the full sense of the word. I will have you, and you will want it."

Bouchard slides his hand up, covering Jon's hand that is stroking his cock with his own, staring him right in the eye as he lifts the camera again. 

"You already do. You already belong to me."

The camera snaps and Jon comes with a soft cry, squeezing around his fingers and spilling himself over his hand.

Falling slack against the chair, Jon pants, still splayed open, still gripping his cock and still impaling himself with his fingers. Bouchard photographs him like this once more before turning towards the little table standing on the side, reaching out to rest the camera on top of it. He turns back to Jon and leans over him, grasping Jon's face between his hands. He strokes his thumbs across Jon’s cheeks, his grey eyes boring into Jon, captivating him even through his daze.

"I need you to remember this," Bouchard says. "You belong to me, Jon. I want you to let go of your inhibitions, this belief that I am dangerous to you. You know we are meant to walk side by side in this world. Let it happen."

Bouchard presses in close, bringing his mouth right above Jon's.

"Let _us_ happen."

As Bouchard kisses him, Jon has no choice: he lets it happen.

*

"When I snap my fingers, you will be released from the hypnosis." The office has been restored to its cozy state, Jon is dressed again and Bouchard smiles at him like nothing at all is wrong. "And when that happens, you won't consciously remember anything that just took place between us. But in your heart, Jon, you will know that everything I said is true. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good boy." Bouchard pets his cheek before retreating to his chair, sitting down and crossing his legs. "Because it is, Jon. It's all true."

With those words, Bouchard snaps his fingers.

“Huh?” Jon blinks, eyes darting around the room. He frowns in confusion over why it looks so different from usual before he remembers what was supposed to happen today, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Did- did we do it?”

“We did.” Bouchard uncrosses his legs and approaches Jon, circling around the table with the tea and the biscuits on it. He rests his hand on Jon’s shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. “You fell asleep, however. Which, in a way, is very good, it means that you really relaxed. But it also means we didn’t get too far.”

Jon groans, looking away from Bouchard’s smiling eyes. “I can’t believe I managed to mess up a hypnosis session.”

“You didn’t mess up anything, Jon. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Bouchard trails his fingers over to Jon’s neck and over to his throat until he’s grasping Jon’s chin, turning his face forward again. “It just means that we have to try again.”

Jon frowns, shrugging Bouchard’s hand off. “Or we could learn from our mistakes and try other things.”

“Come now, Jon. You know you can do anything you set out to do.” Bouchard sweeps Jon’s hair behind his ears, looking down at him with soft, thoughtful eyes. “We don’t give up, Jon. That’s why we have made it so far.”

He can’t really argue that, so Jon says nothing, glancing down even though he can still feel Bouchard’s eyes on him. He wonders why he feels so sticky and sore, why he doesn’t actually feel that rested at all.

But he knows Bouchard is right.

“Yeah,” he says, standing up from his chair. “So, we’ll try again next week?”

Bouchard smiles, grasping Jon by his shoulders so he can kiss him on the forehead.

“If you want to, Jon,” Bouchard says.


End file.
